


Resting Place

by hikarimew



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarimew/pseuds/hikarimew
Summary: Even after the Dragonsong War came to an end, the Warrior of Light took to Dravania. Where Nidhogg once reigned, where Nidhogg’s brood still lived.
Kudos: 11





	Resting Place

**Author's Note:**

> "So Pan how's that 3.0 ending treating you?"
> 
> Not okay!

As the Warrior of Light marched on, Midgardsormr watched over her. Even after the Dragonsong War came to an end, she took to Dravania. Where Nidhogg once reigned, where Nidhogg’s brood still lived. They remembered. The blood of Tioman, the blood of their father, stained her down to the soul, and it angered them how not even that could dim the light of the Crystal’s blessing, as it shone through the cloud of death that followed the warrior, taunting them.

To her credit, the woman did not hate them for their attacks. She defended herself, but no more. Pressing through the lands of Nidhogg, past the children of Nidhogg, until she found one who could guide her. Time did not seem to have meaning to her search. Shoes were repaired, clothes were mended, weapons maintained. She could have lived forever, lost amongst the clouds, never needing to see another child of man to keep herself whole.

Midgardsormr wondered if she would have searched forever, had a guide not been found. She had ties and duties, binding her to every yalm of land in Eorzea and further beyond, and even in areas where humans hadn’t walked in for millenia, she was still aware of those ties. Midgardsormr found linkpearls, moogle posts and her own meticulous journal a weak reflection of the songs and ties of his own kin, but not even he was blind to how the woman was hurt by pressing on, fighting every single one of those fetters tied to her being.

The first dragon who talked had laughed at her in disbelief before flying off. So had the second, the third, and the fourth, and so many more. She kept walking. With time, the dragons did not attack her as much. They offered conversation, more. And finally, one offered her her wish: the place dearest to Nidhogg’s heart.

It was not a place meant for a hyur like her, so Midgardsormr lent her his wings, for this journey. To the place where once, a long time ago, Nidhogg would lay and hear his sister tell him stories of how the rest of their broodmates were, keeping him in touch with his family. There was no warmth there anymore, no sound but the howling gales. There wasn’t even sadness, anymore.

_ It fits her, _ Midgardsormr thought, watching her carve out a small monument, of wood and stone and words that meant nothing to a dragon, but meant respect to man. A grave.

“Not for the one he was,” before the war, before anger, before madness, “but for the one I knew. I understand him far too well to not see this through.”

And Midgardsormr had seen. Seen how despite the wish to break the cycle, even the Mother Crystal’s champion had turned to rage and vengeance, seeking out a fight not out of a duty to the realm, but out of the same anger that drove his son mad. And while Nidhogg had failed, and Ishgard survived despite everything, she had succeeded, her axe swinging true and bringing down the man who killed her friend, and his friends, his leader and God-King a distant second priority, a roadblock in her goals.

“I wish I could have buried his eyes, but it’s better this way. Maybe he can rest.”

Vengeance had not been enjoyed. There was no celebration, no feeling of justice. Just blood, and death. In the end, all men bled the same, regardless if they were loved or hated. Blood could not bring back the ones you lost. It could not replace the smiles you’d never again see. Midgardsormr knew this. So did the Warrior of Light, now.

If only the knowledge had comforted her, for now she was lost. A grown woman to the standards of men, but one who never learned to grieve, new to the feeling like a lost child, bereft of guidance when she had more need of it than most. It was obvious, how her eyes would always dart around and scan the crowds, searching for ghosts that were never there. They would not give her peace. The dead have nothing to gain, and nothing to give. It was for the living to learn this, and find a new path.

“He wouldn’t have been happy, even if he won. We couldn’t see that," for she had seen, when she used his eye, "we can’t see that, when we’re blinded by loss.”

Justice is a noble ideal, but one that rarely brought joy. There are crimes that cannot be undone, lives that cannot be mended, blood that cannot be washed away. Sarnai felt all of those, sitting by the small monument she had made, in silence. 

She had never been much of a conversationalist, but this silence was born of contemplation, not of contentment. A silent understanding, between the dead monster that continued a war, and the larger-than-life hero than had ended him. 

Time aside, was there that much difference between his kin and hers, Midgardsormr wondered. They loved, they fought, and made mistakes, over and over. 

But now, she had to live with hers. Live with loss, live with ghosts in the corners of her eyes, knowing each step forward, each new bond, each new fetter was just an invitation to another spectre to the macabre parade, another place where bonds would tear at her being, and accepting them anyway.

_ What a miserable life, the one of a hero _ , Midgardsormr tells her as he leaves her be. She is not alone for long. Calls arrive, primals were summoned, her help is needed and the hope that the death she brings will cause good things, even if for a second. But until the linkpearl rings out, the Warrior of Light will sit in silence, looking over the land of dragons, so far from her home, and wonder when it all went wrong.


End file.
